Under the Same Stars
by Bao Blossom
Summary: An end always precedes a new beginning. At the end of innocence and the beginning of a great war two people are struggling to make the transition. Together in spirit, only their hearts and their shared view of the stars avows their bond through difficult times. Mary&Dickon.
1. The Beginning in the End

_**Under the Same Stars**_

I dunna own the wonderful characters or the story created by the amazing Frances Hodgson Burnett.

_The Beginning in the End_

~~~o*o~~~

The train whistle blew, punctuating her sense of dread as the man beside her boarded the locomotive. She bowed her head and looked up pleadingly towards him. At times like this she really wished she didn't have to look so high up to meet his gaze. Looking up was all she could do since he had turned 13.

"No," he said somewhat exasperated.

Her face twisted into a pout. She may have been on the verge of turning 16, in training to become a proper young lady, but she was not above extorting him with guilt so that he would reconsider. "It's not too late, I could tell uncle—"

"Mary, no," he said again, mirroring the intensity of her gaze.

Her brows knotted at his stubbornness. If there were anyone in Britain as stubborn as she, it had to be the man in front of her. "Colin," she began.

"Mary," he mimicked.

She grew angry, this was not something to joke about. This was serious and he was being ridiculous. "Please, Colin. Won't you just come with me?"

"I am going with you," he smiled as he extended a hand down to her. "Better hurry too, else you want the train to leave you here."

"You know what I meant," she said begrudgingly taking his hand and shoving past him. He allowed himself a little smirk as he saw her plop down into a seat in the first class cabin. She may have already looked the part of a proper lady of society, but no amount of finishing school would ever stop Mary Lennox from being Mary Lennox.

He calmly took the seat across from her and with all the patience in the world took off his coat, took off his hat, set them both down beside him, then from his case took out his Chemistry book and began to read it.

"Colin," she said finally at the end of her patience, "Uncle said he wanted us both to go home. He wants you to stay at Misselthwaite, not just accompany me back."

"You're not going to draw me back into this argument Mary. You know why I can't stay there," he said not looking up from his book.

The train began to lurch forward as she pursed her lips in a very 'Medlock' way. "You most certainly _can_ stay there. You just don't want to."

He gave a shrug. "Well, yes, I suppose that's true."

"But you'd be safe there Colin!"

He sighed and set his book down. "Mary, what am I supposed to accomplish locked away back home when I could be doing something of actual benefit back here in London? What would you have me do back at Misselthwaite?"

She rolled her eyes and huffed. Colin and his sense of righteousness. But she knew from his particular choice of words that Misselthwaite would always hold some sense of confinement for him. Even if the Garden had set him free and the moor had let him explore his new found independence, he had tasted the outside world. Mary knew he was far too smart and far too adventurous for Twaite now. Still…

"You do realize I'm not just being pigheaded for the fun of bantering, right? I'm honestly scared for you Colin. I mean, you could always come back to London. Lots of people are leaving. Maybe even some of your professors."

"Not the good ones," he defended. "I already wasted half of my life doing nothing in that house Mary. I'm not going to wait for a war to end to get on with my life now too."

She bit the inside of her lip, knowing there was little she could say to that. "I just thought, the three of us would finally be together again."

Colin spared her a withering glance. If she did this on purpose, she was a bloody genius. "The world is a very different place than it was just 2 years ago dear cousin. And I'm not just talking about the Great War. We're... not kids anymore Mary."

She looked away and he panicked slightly at the sight of moisture in her eyes. He hadn't meant to make her feel bad. He knew that despite being stubborn and pouty about it, she was genuinely concerned about him staying in London. The last air raid had left many civilians injured. After the news his father wasted no time in writing them both to request they come home for their safety. Well, it was written as a request, but it felt more like an ordinance. Mary had jumped at the chance to go back home.

Proper education and presentation into society was what was expected of young adults like Mary and himself, but he knew she missed the moor and the garden, all her friends in the staff, and of course she missed Dickon. They had only been in London for a little over 2 years, but in that time he'd come to understand that no matter how similar he and Mary were in spirit and manner, they viewed the world in very different ways. Colin felt like running away was not the answer. The world was meant to be explored and he could not do that from Misselthwaite.

He told his father he would see Mary back home safe, and possibly stay for a week, but afterwards, he would go back to his studies. His father had not been too pleased, but he was surprisingly understanding at Colin's request. More so than Mary anyway.

The thought of not being able to see her anymore weighed him down too, but he knew this was probably best for them both. After all, even if he had grown out his innocent infatuation for his cousin not too long ago, he was not too keen about seeing her and Dickon dance around each other all dopey-eyed day in and day out trying to figure out what everyone else already knew about them.

Still, even if it was his own decision, it didn't make being away from Mary any less wretched. "We are never really apart Mary. You made sure of that before we left, remember? I'll write to you every week, just like Dickon does."

She huffed and kept her gaze on the passing scenery outside. The summer before she and Colin were sent off to London, Mary made sure to spend as much time teaching Dickon proper calligraphy and making him promise he would write to both of them at least twice a month when they were away. Even Colin helped with some of the lessons, mostly because he was a stickler for spelling and punctuation. And true to his word, Dickon wrote not once every 2 weeks, but once a week. Every Monday, the post would come in with his scratchy handwriting printed on an envelope.

Mary was always delighted to read the short, colloquial stories he had to tell, but it was a poor substitute for having him nearby. A letter could not convey the smile in his voice, or that wonderful sparkle of his eyes. Still, the thought of Colin writing to her every week did ease her discontent about him staying behind, if only slightly.

"You had better write to me every week, or I will come down and fetch you and drag you back home if I need to."

He smiled, knowing a threat like that was not an empty one when spoken by his cousin. "I promise."

She relaxed visibly and looked up at him with a softer expression. "Did you bring anything for me?" she asked sweetly.

He arched a brow at the many shades of Mary Lennox. She smiled at the look of amusement on his features, then clapped as he produced a book from his pouch.

"You're lucky I have biology this term," he said handing her the botany text.

She paid him no mind, already nose deep in his book. He smiled.

~~*o*~~

Dickon looked at the letter and re-read it. Then he read it again. And then again a fourth time. He had been quick to learn his letters as a boy. A knowledge that Mary had expanded on upon her imminent move to London, insisting that he improve his calligraphy and vocabulary to remain in contact with the cousins while they were away.

Writing to her these last two years had been something between heartbreak and bliss. Knowing she was there through her lovely calligraphy, still interested in him and the garden and Misselthwaite, was wonderful. But the distance ached. Everywhere and all the time. He hadn't realized how much of himself she held until she was gone. And so he had hoped he could feel complete again when he learned of her return. But now, not days after the wonderful news, his joy had been cut away by the harsh reality of a world so far away from his own, and that one awful word he had to read several times before accepting what it entailed...

_Conscripted_.

He knew now that it had been the right thing to do to read the letter by himself. It was odd that he get correspondence from anyone other than Mary. And this letter looked too formal to be addressed to someone like him, until he saw the reason. It didn't make any sense though. Master Craven had told him that he was too young, that he shouldn't worry. But here was that letter, with that word, and a date.

A terrifyingly short limit to how long he had with his family, and with Mary.

"Dickon."

He hadn't even heard his mother come into the stable. He was quick to hide the letter, but when he looked up to her face he knew it was pointless to try and hide what she already knew.

"How long?" she asked shakily.

Sadness looked so wrong on his mother's face.

"Three weeks, just 'bout."

The effort she put into not crying was astonishing. Even more that she managed a smile. "Then tha'll get t' see Mary before leavin'."

Something painful tugged inside him at the mention of her name. "Aye."

~~*o*~~

She could hardly contain herself when the carriage slowly pulled up to the front steps of Misselthwaite. She was absentmindedly aware that Colin was smirking at her, making fun of her jittery disposition no doubt. She didn't care. She would see her uncle soon, and Martha, and Ben, and even Medlock. But the jitters had little to do with them. She knew better, even if it was odd to admit.

She had been on the lookout for him since they entered the moor, and was sure that if he hadn't been out riding she would find him with the staff waiting to receive her. Colin opened the carriage door and extended a hand out for his cousin.

Imagine her disappointment when the only smiling faces she saw were Martha and Mrs. Medlock's.

"Master Colin," Mrs. Medlock beamed, not bothering to suppress the motherly affection she had for the young man who greeted her politely. "You look so dashing."

"It's good to see you Mrs. Medlock," he returned her smile.

"Miss Mary!" Martha, ever oblivious to the social conventions of the different classes took Mary into a big hug and giggled upon their embrace.

"Martha, you haven't changed a bit!" Mary, not much for social conventions herself, gave Martha a peck on the cheek, ready for Medlock's reprimand. But the elder woman could only smile down at the two girls and their obvious delight in one another.

"You look lovely Miss Mary," Mrs. Medlock greeted appreciatively.

"Thank you Mrs. Medlock. You look quite well yourself."

She turned back to Martha who was being greeted by a kiss on the hand from Colin. Mary smiled at the blush on the older girl's cheeks and finally asked her friend the question that had been bouncing in her since stepping onto the grounds.

"Martha," Mary began, "Is Dickon well? Is he on the grounds today?"

Colin good-naturedly rolled his eyes at his cousin's impatience. "For God's sake Mary, he's probably working. He'll come see you soon enough. Don't you think we should greet my father first?"

But both Mary and Colin caught the fleeting look of discomfort between Martha and Medlock as silence suddenly hung over them.

"He _is_ doing well though?" Colin asked again feeling Mary tense up beside him. "Out working?"

"Of course," Mrs. Medlock said rapidly. "He should be out with Ben right now. He'll probably come see you after his chores. Now Master Colin is right, his Lordship awaits you both."

Mary looked at Martha who had remained strangely quite when asked about her brother and she gave Mary an uncertain smile and a slight nod. Mary looked to Colin who confirmed that something odd was definitely going on. As he led her into the house he gave her hand a light squeeze letting her know that they would find out as soon as they were done with his father. Mary smiled and tried to push away the strange dread that had crept into her stomach. Medlock had said he was fine. He was fine.

~~*o*~~

The meeting with her uncle was interminable. At least it seemed that way. It felt like the greetings took forever, Colin had a lot to say about his time in London and his uncle kept asking her about hers as well. In truth she also had lots to tell him, but every second that passed was one more that she didn't know what was happening with Dickon.

Just when she thought they would be excused the argument began between her cousin and her uncle about him staying again. When her uncle turned on her to ask for an opinion it was Colin who said it might be better if she left them alone for a while. She was grateful for the reprieve. Although she would talk to her uncle about him later.

Once out of the room she flew downstairs in a very un-lady like fashion and took the back entrance out to the moor. The staff she passed on the way seemed very happy to see her return. She would greet them all properly later, for now all she offered on her way out was a big smile and a "thank you!" for their fleeting compliments.

The first place she checked was the garden of course. Stepping through the ivy covered door was like stepping into the past, and for a few fleeting moments, she forgot all about her urgency and dread. She smiled seeing the summer blooms, breathing in the smell of life. How she had missed her garden.

Dickon was not inside, she realized after a quick walkthrough. She knew she ought to go find him, but she was sure it would be ok to stay here just a bit longer before continuing her search. After all, she needed to say hello here as well. She sat on the swing with a sense of pleasant nostalgia.

Two years didn't really sound like a long time, but they'd felt like it. She had gone to London with Colin because it was what was expected of her, of someone of her station. She had not wanted to go. Not at all. But she was not about to dishonor the wishes of her uncle when he had done so much for her. Her uncle Archie would have been more than thrilled to have her marry some rich beau and have a life deserving of a "lovely young lady".

What nonsense. The prospects she had met in London seemed all to be cut from the same arrogant close-minded cloth. Their conversations revolved around only one thing. The most interesting thing in the world to them: themselves.

She only agreed to go to London with the promise that Misselthwaite would still be open to her after her schooling. Her uncle seemed as touched as he was exasperated, "This will always be your home Mary, but don't you want something more than Misslethwaite?" he'd asked, but agreed none the less. Mary knew better. She could not be what society and her uncle expected her to be. She had decided long ago that she would not grow up to be her mother. Not after meeting people like Martha, and Ben, and Dickon.

"Mary, Mary quite contrary," she chided herself.

Her uncle would no doubt have a fit if he knew that she aspired to be more like the servants at Twaite than high class citizens of London. She didn't care. That love that they seemed to feel for people, and nature, and life, it was so much more fulfilling than expensive jewelry, pretty dresses, and fancy parties.

"How does your garden grow?" asked a voice she almost didn't recognize.

She hadn't even noticed when he got so close. For a second as she looked into his eyes, she could have sworn that absolutely nothing had changed. She had left for London when he was 16. Back then, his body was still trying to catch up with his sudden leap of stature. Apparently it had caught up quite... well. She blushed at the things that occurred to her. For God's sake, this was Dickon. Wonderful, smiling, healthy,

"Dickon!"

She jumped off the swing almost too quickly for her legs. It didn't matter, she knew he would be there to catch her if she fell.

Whatever he was about to say was knocked out of him as she crashed against him. The smell of her hair was almost enough to loose himself in. She smelled like... he didn't know. But it was right and beautiful and magic. The feel of her body against his though was enough to snap him out of his blissful lack of shame. He definitely had to stop that before...

He pulled away and tried to smile. "Tha'll get dirt on thy dress Miss Mary. I'm all filthy."

She looked up to him sadly. "But tha smells like home Dickon. I missed thee so."

That was it, he thought forlornly. That's what she had smelled like as well. "S'wonderful t' see thee."

He stopped her when she made to hug him again and could only offer an apologetic smile. "I was sent to fetch thee. Mrs. Medlock wants tha to speak to Colin."

He stepped away from her and started heading for the door of the garden. She stood rooted to the spot, not sure why she was feeling so cold all of a sudden. He stopped and waited for her at the base of the small knoll. What was wrong with her? He was being a perfect gentleman. They were not children anymore. Even before she left he had taken to being less physical with her. "Thank goodness that boy is proper enough for the both of you!" Mrs. Medlock had told her once.

She frowned. Yes... thank goodness.

She lifted her skirts and joined him at the bottom of the hill. "How are you Dickon?" she asked as they walked through the garden together. "I can't believe I'm back home."

He smiled but did not look at her. Very unlike the Dickon. "Tis wonderful t' have thee back."

"Are you well?" she asked again, not missing that he had avoided her question completely.

"Aye, fit as a fiddle," he took her hand and began to lead her up the stairs to the door. She ignored how much she enjoyed his hand around hers as they climbed up. At the door he let her step through but she stopped when he did not join her.

"Tha'll forgive me Miss Mary, but I've much work t' finish afore twilight. It was lovely t' see thee."

"What—?"

He ignored the shocked hurt look on her face as he closed the garden door between them. He clenched his teeth, took a deep breath and set his head down over the large iron door. This was a lot harder than he thought it would be. But he just had to resist 10 more days.

She couldn't move. She could barely breathe. It seemed like he had just kicked her out of her own garden. It felt like he had did not want to be with her. Had he grown out of the affection they shared when they were younger? Was she just another wealthy mistress to him now? Was there a reason for this distance from her or had things simply run their course, the magic of their childhood having vanished after 2 years? But no, it didn't make sense. In his letters he was always so- well more affectionate than he had just been. How silly was that?

His eyes were different, she realized. What little she had seen of them seemed, different. Her eyes itched and she shook her head at the silliness of it all. She should stop being so childish.

~~~o*o~~~

Well, I just went on a Secret Garden binge, read the book, saw the 93 movie and even snippets from the old Hallmark one. It's safe to say I'm on a Secret Garden high and this fic is the result. A word of caution though. I have absolutely no idea where this fic is going. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have clear ideas for the story that I will eventually cement. And I have done my research about the war and the era so that I am comfortable with writing it accurately. I'm just not clear on how or when or where it will all eventually lead. So… proceed at your own risk.

Also, you should know that this might be a mesh of the Book and the 1993 movie. Probably weighted a bit more towards the book, but both contain things I adore about this couple. So, I promise I'll be careful about not putting in anything that contradicts either story. So yeah. Hope you enjoyed!

Reviews are greatly GREATLY appreciated. I apologize beforehand if I butcher Dickon's accent. :/


	2. Drops of Dew

_Drops of Dew_

~~~o*o~~~

Colin watched as his cousin looked gloomily out the window. This was getting quite ridiculous. Four days ago she had almost been jumping in her seat at the thought of being back here. It shouldn't have surprised him that one person could change all of that. But it did make him quite angry. Mary was never the type to mope. He wondered if she had been this exasperated with him when he was younger. He was happy to have put that part of himself behind him.

"Is she still upset about the Sowerby boy?" his father whispered towards him from his leather chair.

"It seems so," he sighed heavily. If she heard the two talking, she gave no indication. He frowned and went back to his book.

"She's being quite strong, considering."

Colin gave a non-committal shrug and went back to reading his book.

"His mother hides how much it's affected her," Craven continued, "but poor Martha was a mess when she first heard."

Colin's brows furrowed at his father's words. He had only been half listening. Did he say something about his mother and sister? Something about that didn't make sense. Why would Martha or Mrs. Sowerby care if their son were ignoring Mary?

"When she heard?" Colin repeated.

His father nodded, "Was about a little over a week ago. Poor lass, I had to give her a day off just to recover."

At this point, Colin was completely lost. They obviously weren't talking about the same thing, so then what _was_ his father talking about?

"You wouldn't know from looking at him either. He refused to tell half the staff. Trying his best not to upset people I suppose. Bless him, I do hope he comes back. He's so young."

Colin's stomach did a nasty flip as he discarded his physics text on the table beside him. "What?"

"Comes back?" he heard Mary's dry voice behind him beat him to his next question.

Craven looked up at the panicked look on his niece's face and was suddenly aware that he had quite nonchalantly delivered life changing news. He looked down to his son who was unconsciously shaking his head and realized the boy hadn't told either of them.

"Oh Mary, Colin. I thought he... I assumed he told you."

Colin gripped at the armrest trying to piece together everything his father had just let "slip." "What are you saying father?"

The man gave them both a sympathetic glance. His face looked as sad as it had been before the Secret Garden. "He's been called up."

Archie watched his son shoot up out of his chair as Mary sank to the ground beside him. He got up immediately to help, ringing the bell for Medlock before rushing to kneel beside her. "Mary dear."

"He can't be going off to war! He's too young! He-he he doesn't turn 19 till next year! You can't be called up any younger! It's the law! It's all over the papers!" Medlock came into the room in the middle of Colin's rant. One look around told her that Master Craven had finally told them about Dickon.

"Miss Mary," she helped lift the girl up off the ground and into the chair Colin had just been occupying.

"He can't be sent overseas either! Don't soldiers need to be trained for months before they're deployed? But he is too young to go! He's only just turned 18!"

"In May the minimum age of those conscripted was lowered to 18," explained Archie as Medlock fussed over Mary. "It was in his letter. He received it shortly after his birthday."

"What?" Colin felt something awful and thick coat his throat. "They can't just..."

Dickon was going off to war? He was the kindest person Colin had ever met. He had taught him to think of others and treat them with respect and empathy. What kind of person would the war turn him into? Assuming he came back at all.

He felt sick. He was about to storm out of the room when his eyes fell on Mary's vacant expression. His heart went out to her pale expressionless face. Dickon was Colin's best friend, but to Mary he was... Colin sighed finally understanding Dickon's attitude these last few days. He felt horrible for both of them. While Mrs. Medlock fussed over her with damp towels and a fan Colin kneeled down in front of her.

She was not here. He looked up to his father who gave him an apologetic shrug.

"I'm fine," she let out airily to Mrs. Medlock. "I just... I think I..."

The seconds ticked by. She looked around to the three concerned faces watching over her and locked eyes with Colin. He gave her a nod. "I'll accompany you to your room Mary. I think we both have a lot to think about."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded at her cousin.

"Do you want me to turn down your bed Miss Mary? Or bring you some water or cold presses?"

Mary looked at Medlock in slight confusion. Why were they fussing over her when Dickon was the one that— "No, no, I... I just want to be alone for a bit."

Colin offered his arm to her and slowly led her out of the drawing room leaving two concerned pairs of eyes looking after them.

"Colin," his father said before they shut the door. "Don't chastise the boy for having gone around protecting you in the wrong way."

Colin could make no such promise so he simply shut the door and left. Mary wasn't aware of where they were going or what she was supposed to do now. All she could see in her mind where the headlines in the papers about how many British soldier were killed each day. Battles in France, Belgium, Germany, poisonous gasses and wounded soldiers. Propaganda for volunteers and sites of mass graves. The war had seemed so far away in print. Now it was here. Right here in her home.

When they stopped walking she looked to her surroundings in confusion. Why were they outside the back entrance of the manor? Wasn't he to take her to her room?

"You don't want to be left alone."

She looked up to him and tried to understand what he was saying.

"There is something you have to do."

She blinked as reality and many other emotions set in. Mary shut her eyes, trying to clear the fog in her mind. "Yes," she said softly. She cleared her throat and tried again with more strength to her voice and her actions "Yes, I-"

Looking around she realized that Colin had led her out near the gardens. Her stomach turned as he indicated she go on without him.

"Thank you Colin," she said, now back to her senses.

"I'll go see him tomorrow. Take your time. I'll tell uncle and Medlock that you turned in early and want to be left alone."

She nodded and gave her cousin a long hug, the mutual strife bringing them all the more closer together.

~~*o*~~

Mary found him in the garden, of course. She saw a pile of plucked weeds just beyond the rose beds and watched as he trimmed some of the heavier wilting flowers from their thorny stems. She pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and hoped she could get through this conversation without breaking down. Just the sight of him was already making her eyes burn.

"Dickon," she said finally. Tired of this week, tired of the silence, tired of looking at his back and talking to an adverted gaze. It was moot now, she knew why he had been avoiding her. He turned and gave her a quick smile before turning back to the flowers.

"Aye, Miss Mary? I thought tha'd be back at th' Manor gettin' thy victuals at this hour."

She heard the shear of the scissors as another rose fell into his hand. Still he did not look at her. She clenched her fists and bit down her anger and fear. "When do you leave?"

His heart fell down to his stomach. The shear missed the stem and cut down into his exposed palm, drawing a thin line of blood a few seconds later. Dickon did not react to the drops of red, but slowly put down the shears and clenched his hand around the injury. He made a very willful effort to keep his breath steady and his heart from pounding too hard in his chest, completely unaware that Mary was in the exact same state.

He did not deny it. He did not put her fears to rest by saying that she was wrong. She thought she was over the shock and surprise of the news. She thought she had accepted the fact that the person whom she had given so much of herself to, the very first person who had liked her, was leaving soon for a place where magic and life and everything he radiated went to d—

"Dickon," she tried to say, but his name came out more as a cry than an actual word. Because if possible, this moment. This moment when he just stood there confirming all of her fears through silence was even worse than when her uncle had told her.

"Martha told thee," he said unable to move.

And there it was. Mary closed her eyes in a futile attempt to stop her tears. "No," her anger gave her back the voice emotion had stolen away, "My uncle told us. He was the only one in the house who apparently wasn't sworn to secrecy by you."

He closed his eyes, willing away his pain and her own. "Colin knows too then?"

Mary didn't trust her voice enough to answer, so she simply nodded when he turned to face her with those sad eyes.

He turned away, opening his hand out of her sight to reveal a mess of red smeared against his palm. It had not stopped bleeding, but he felt nothing except the pain in his chest from being the cause of her grief. "I'm sorry."

She coughed back the tears forming in the back of her throat at the sadness in his voice. When he finally turned to face her, she was the one to turn away, letting herself fall on the bench near the pond with her face buried in her hands.

What was she doing? Would good would crying do? She had not cried like this since she had been sent away to London, and even then she never did it in front of anyone, much less Dickon. She sat there weeping from anger and fear and sadness until a soft hand brushed away a lock of her hair from her face. The touch was so gentle, so familiar, like it had happened once before a long time ago. She was as reluctant to let him see her crying now as she had been 6 years ago. But there was something else in her heart this time around. Something that made her turn back after she had jerked away. Something that wanted to know what came after that soft stroke of affection.

She didn't look up at him, only hid her face against his chest and grabbed blindly at his shirt. Slowly, but not hesitantly, his arms came up behind her small frame and pulled her against him tightly. Any other day she would have been surprised by his forwardness. He had become quite timid in his adolescence, much to her irritation. But, she was infinitely grateful for his lack of discretion today.

His hand came down over her hair and followed the smooth waves down her back. She pulled away just enough to envelope her arms around him completely as he continued to stroke her. Maybe if she held him tight enough, everything around them would disappear. The war and the world and the sadness would all go away.

His hand brushed a stray lock of moist hair from her cheek and somehow his finger ended up tracing the soft curve of her chin. The touch shifted something in her. He lifted her face up towards his and all she could see was the familiar lovely blue shade of his eyes. That was when the tears stopped. He was just as sad, just as scared as she was. But somehow in the few moments between her first choking sobs and now looking up to him, everything really did disappear. And all there was, was him. Her breath hitched when his hand cupped her face and his thumb brushed away a trail of salt near her lips.

And suddenly, amazingly, stupidly... she realized. This was it. This was where all of her affection for him had led her. To a very late realization that she wanted nothing more than for him to stop studying her face and just kiss her already. It was quite an obvious realization, but it didn't scare her any less. The last cog had been placed when their gazes met, and now something big and spectacular was coming to life inside of her. Going faster and faster as the distance between them closed.

He must have seen the fear in her eyes, else he wouldn't have pulled back so abruptly. She could almost feel it hurt when he moved away, unaware of how close he had come in the few moments of her self-realization. She reluctantly let her hands slide away from his back and took one to her chest where she was sure her heart was about jump away. Relief came between the waves of disappointment. But, she was afraid to face him again. What would she feel now when she looked at him?

He got up abruptly and she panicked, afraid he was going to leave her with this mess of emotions in her chest. "Wait!"

She grabbed his hand and looked up at him, not really knowing what was supposed to happen now. What was one supposed to do after a moment so intimate? He didn't turn to face her. His hand was sweating but his fingers were cold. She gave his hand a squeeze and stopped. This didn't feel like sweat.

"Oh my God Dickon! You hand!"

She felt him tug away but she held her grip. "What— what happened?" She stepped in closer and opened his palm drenched in red. "Oh, you're hurt! How did…?"

"S'nothin," he said as she absentmindedly wiped away the tears from her eyes.

"Come," she said pulling him behind her.

For a second he thought she was going to drag him all the way back to Misselthwaite to announce to the whole staff how inappropriate he had just been with her. But as she led him further into the garden he realized that she was just leading him to the water pump behind the Lilies.

Neither spoke a word as she sat him down and began pulling and pushing the lever until a steady stream of water came out. She took his hand and placed it under the stream while cleaning off the blood with her slender little fingers. When had her hands become so much smaller than his? He winced as her thumb grazed over the injury and she looked up afraid before he smiled down at her.

"S'fine Miss Mary. S' just a wee scratch."

She continued, although taking care to avoid direct contact with the pink line on his skin. All the while he looked at her, mesmerized. Amazed at how she could have come back even more beautiful than she already was. She filled a part of him so fully, so completely, just by being here beside him.

"This part here's a bit deeper. You might need to bandage it to keep it clean. Here."

"What is tha doin!" he asked panicking as she lifted her skirts to reveal the while lace and tool beneath. He set his free hand over hers to stop such an inappropriate gesture but she shoved him off impatiently.

"Oh, what else is lace good for Dickon?" she asked tearing a long strip close to her knee.

He shut his eyes and promptly looked away, ashamed that she was willing to do such a thing for someone as common as him. He felt her work on his hand in silence as the water dripped to a stop beside them.

"There," she said turning his hand over in hers and inspecting her work. "Not too bad."

He looked down, taking back his hand and inspecting the work for himself. It looked like he was missing half a lace glove, very much out of place with the rest of him, but she was right. It was holding well, not too tight or too loose, and the bleeding had already stopped.

"Does it hurt?" she asked sweetly.

He looked over to those big brown eyes and swallowed hard. Something did. "I'm sorry Miss Mary."

"What? Why? I told you, the dress is fine. Look you can't even see it."

He looked away, knowing she'd understand it wasn't the dress that concerned him. "I should 'ave told thee about... everything. An' I shunna done what I done back there. It wun proper an' I'm sorry."

She said nothing for a long while, so long that he turned back wondering if she was really cross at what had happened back on the bench. Her eyes were sad, but not angry. She looked down, seeming to make a silent decision before leading him to the arch next to the lilies.

"Mary," he said feeling nervous when she turned to face him full on.

"Be silent," she whispered placing a soft hand over his lips. It was cold, from having just been under the water, but the temperature had little to do with the shivers it sent through his skin. "Just, stay silent with me for a moment."

He was nothing against the silk of her voice. So he stayed silent and watched, scared but hopeful as she took both his hands in hers. She did nothing for a while, but look at their hands together. He warmed her hands quickly never looking away from her face, studying any reaction, or lack thereof.

"You'll come back," she said quietly, her gaze still on their hands.

He looked down sadly as well and gave them a gentle squeeze, "I canna know that."

"It wasn't a question," she said harshly.

He looked up to find angry eyes gazing up at him. He could only offer her a sad smile. She looked away again, put off by his gentle honesty. She gave a sigh and pulled him down onto the soft grass where she shifted up against him.

He'd kept his gaze on her features. When her eyes finally met his, the fear was gone, but sadness had crept back into them. He mirrored her expression aware that her left hand was intertwining her fingers with his. She closed her eyes and leaned into him.

He willed his heart to be steady, to back away from such personal inappropriate contact. But her cheek pressed against his chest, her hair in the nook of his neck. Just today, just this moment in their garden he could have... right? He would face so much horror soon. He needed this moment of beauty, to remind him that there were still beautiful things in the world. He closed his eyes and set his chin over her head.

Mary reached over and grabbed his other hand while she pretended the drops of warm water over her hair were little drops of dew.

~~~o*o~~~

**AN: I refuse to believe that Dickon showing his feelings makes him anything less than adorable… and slightly heartbreaking. So there.**

**This story is now dedicated to Sophie929 as she was the only one who reviewed my work and inspired me to keep at it. Even if it's just for you Sophie, I will finish this. Which by the way, inspiration having stuck me last night, I now know an amazing way to finish it! Well at least I think it's amazing. It might be really lame but as much as I have seen this story line done in SG fics, I have never seen this particular ending...**

**Intrigued****? Read on, and review! Please! Even if it's bad, let me know how I can fix it. Too much ego food is bad for humility but too little is very disheartening. **


End file.
